He was pure as a lamb of God when the penitent woman gave him to me;—’tis his faith in me has made him what he now is.
Peter.
[Without heeding him.] The child must out! Slay it, slay it in the Queen’s arms,—that was King Skule’s word in Oslo!
Margrete.
Oh shame, oh shame!
Peter.
A saint might do it unsinning, at my father’s command! My father is King; for the great king’s-thought is his!
Townsmen.
[Knocking at the gate.] Open! Come out, you and the church-robber, else will we burn the convent down!
King Skule.